*****

The Hunter Becomes the Hunted:
The Downfall of Our Public Rapport

Little old ladies have changed. Just a few years ago, remarking on a cobalt blue crock would have prompted a response of, “Isn’t it lovely? I wonder how old it is.” Nowadays, you’re lucky if you get to stir your tea before they bark, “How much is it worth?”

It’s not just the little old ladies. Everyone is painfully aware of the weight of a dollar and eager to put each and every family heirloom up on the appraisal block. Ebay is flooded, garage sales are crawling, and flea markets are stuffed with amateur experts and treasure hunters. No one trusts the professionals and all are quick to take their business elsewhere.

What’s to blame for the change? Why, television, of course!

Think about it. Thirteen years ago, the only show around (that is, in America) was everyone’s small town hero, Antiques Roadshow. It was quaint, inviting, and surprising. More importantly, it was all about the viewers. We watched, we gathered our (assumed) valuables, and we went on air. And, if we were lucky, we left very satisfied. The appraisers donated their time for a shot at free advertising and the clients learned about the wonders hidden in their attic. America was happy.

But now, there are new kids on the block and they are ruining everything. I’m talking about you, American Pickers and Pawn Stars. Reality TV shows with ridiculous tag-lines (“Preserving America’s history”? Give me a break!) that flip the focus away from the viewers and onto the bottom line. We are pulled along for the ride as these “experts” lowball customers and brag about their earnings to the camera. The pickers go door-to-door and pick up items they turn around for a 100% (or more) profit. And the pawn shop dealers quote shamelessly low prices for collectibles that were appraised for thousands only moments before. It’s Antiques Roadshow on heroin. And it is affecting business.

Media’s effect on public thinking is well documented. The popularity of CSI led to what members of the court system call the CSI Effect, causing juries to call for DNA testing and re-examine evidence with newly educated eyes. The only difference is, the public likes forensic scientists and doesn’t like the  antiques business. At least, not anymore.

So, what can you do? Know thy enemy. Watch these shows and understand what your clients are seeing. Understand why they no longer trust you. Don’t use the same techniques (feigning interest in personal loss, pretending you don’t have the cash on hand, etc.) the TV shows do. Be honest about your intentions and acknowledge that you do need to make money, too. Recognize their concerns and do your best to assuage them.

And, on your way out the door, steal their televisions. That’ll fix it.

However, I do consider myself determined and getting my foot into the advertising door means I should have a handle on whatever is thrown at me. Currently, that means learning Adobe Illustrator. And, what better way to teach myself Illustrator than to actually design a logo?

My client is Keeley Hammond, a sound designer, colleague, and friend. She was in need of a brand and logo for her soon-to-be-launched professional website. So, after asking her some questions and doing some research, I sent her my initial sketches. Out of those, she chose this:

I fired up Illustrator and set about creating a more polished version. However, the more I studied my sketch the more cliche and even tacky I found it to be. So, I nixed the cursive initials and decided to play off the headphones base.

Keeley had expressed to me a wonderful idea: that sound design was an art form. No two designers mixed the same. I wanted to show that my client was more than just a sound monkey with a boom pole. I wanted to show her creativity and original thought in relation to sound. And so, I came up with this:

I extended the headphones into a light bulb and replaced the filament with a sound wave. I really liked how the smooth and rigidly perfect lines of the headphones and light bulb screw both contrasted and complemented the more fluid and organic sound wave. A nice blend of technology and imagination.

Add some accent color (green being the client’s favorite) and a logo is born:

This will be incorporated into her website and business cards. An alternate green-on-green design can be found below:

Overall, I am very happy with my results and hope to continue to broaden my knowledge of Illustrator and design.

The Inheritance

“This,” her shrewd aunt said, unfolding the heavy cloth, “belonged to your great-grandmother. She traveled all over the world.”

“By herself?”

“Yes.”

The girl ran her hand over the intricate embroidery; the bright pheasants and lush jungles seemed to dance under her fingertips. She caught a whiff of musk from a distant era. Danger and lust.

“How old was she?” the girl whispered.

“Well,” her aunt replied, “how old are you?”

The girl paused, tracing a needlepoint cage. The diamond on her finger pulsed with a peculiar weight.

*****

The winning entries can be read here.

Because it had to happen, that’s why.

And when it comes to writing cover letters, this is forefront in my mind.

See, I learned to write cover letters in school. I sat next to my peers (that is, my chemistry and engineering peers, who didn’t know how to spell “Sincerely” but would blow up my car if I pointed that out) and I learned about business format and professional writing. The three parts of a cover letter: the polite statement of interest, the three shining reasons for why they should hire me, the concluding contact information and thanking of consideration. Signature, enclosure. Post scripts are for idiots.

And yet, when I sit down to write a cover letter I just Can’t Do It.

I’ve done it before. I write in long, formal sentences and use bold, intelligent words like “efficiency,” “achievement-oriented,” and “tatterdemalion” (well, maybe not that one). No lists or bullet points. Just beautiful paragraphs aching for the swish of a quill pen.

And then I re-read it and want to stab myself in the cerebral cortex.

Formal introductions and long sentences bore me (unless written by Teddy Roosevelt) and I can only imagine that they bore Creative Directors, too. Especially since they probably receive dozens of them every week.

So, when I sit down to write a cover letter, I do something a little odd. I think to myself, “What would I want to read?” and then I write it. The result is snappy and down-to-earth without being rude. I still address it formally and use “Sincerely” because that is common courtesy. But I don’t try to wow them with my knowledge of the dictionary. If they think I’m an idiot they might check my resume to confirm. And that’s all I can really hope for.

So, there you have it. My grand philosophy. I learn the conventions, consider my audience, and reject the former if they don’t mesh. I write for my readers.

Isn’t that what advertising is all about, anyway?

In no universe is my butt that shapely.

Once you get a feel for the Steampunk scene (I would recommend everyone’s friend, the Internet, for this) the sky’s the limit. Some Steampunkers completely immerse themselves in the scene and outfit their entire homes with original Victorian furniture and crank-powered coffee makers. Others embrace a particular interest, such as making their own daguerreotypes or constructing their own pistols. Sell to your audience.

So, what’s the catch? Well, besides finding a place to store all your cash, you should be aware of one thing. Steampunk is all about modification. It’s the “punk” part. Therefore, that pocket watch you sell could be completely dissembled and made into a one-of-a-kind brooch. That beaver fur top hat could be outfitted with a periscope. That carved ivory cane topper could be wrenched off and used as a chain pull on a fan. You can’t control what your Steampunk audience will do with their purchases and if you prefer to sell to people who will treat these antiques with a certain historical reverence, look elsewhere.

If you like making money, however, park your zeppelin next to mine.

One look at a cameo and I enter into an Antiques Roadshow inspired coma. I can tell you the material it was carved from, the type of cameo it is, the subject of the piece, the level of craftsmanship, and, of course, the date. This coma takes a few minutes to process, but is well worth the wait.

One time, my mother showed me a cameo. When I woke up, I was in Canada.

What does this mean for you? Well, New Boss, several things:

1. I pay attention to detail.

Cameos require a trained eye and an intense attention to detail. In today’s fast-paced, instant-gratification based society, such skills are often lost beneath the floorboards (next to my neighbor). As a result, projects veer off-course, campaigns fail, and clients walk away very displeased.

I can prevent this. My fastidious nature and copious amounts of Post-It notes mean that no end is left loose and no detail is overlooked. I notice and remember everything. Client names, source citations, market trends, page numbers, the time your secretary goes to lunch, the license plate of the guy who cut me off last week, and the location of your house keys. I will be your game changer.

2. I have hobbies.

Collecting cameos is something I do outside my job. Do I love my work? Of course! Will I go the extra mile? I’ll go ten…possibly eleven if there’s a Dunkin Donuts down there. But, in addition to loving my work I also love other things. And my broad range of interests will actually enrich the work I do for you.

Having hobbies also means I’m not a serial killer. All serial killers care about is killing people in a serial fashion. And I care about way more than that. Like setting untraceable fires.

3. I am the perfect time travel companion.

Cameos have been carved since ancient times. No matter what period of time you look at, you can find cameos (or similar types of jewelry). Think of them as the barometer of the ages. And, as with any piece of technology, you need an underpaid licensed technician to properly understand it. Enter: me.

What if the date display in the time travel machine breaks? What if your arch-nemesis pushes us into the machine and sets the dial to “random”? Wherever in time we end up, I can get us answers. All we need to do is find a woman, terrorize and rob her, and use her cameo to deduce what time period we traveled to. From there we can find the nearest misunderstood scientist and build a new machine. All within 90-120 minutes.

So, yes. Dating cameos. Just one of the many ways that adding me to your team will enhance workflow and give you an edge over the competition.

I can also kill spiders.